


I Await a Protector

by Lunarlooroo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Patroni, Patronuses, Protective Snape, snapeloveposts, whatever the plural is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarlooroo/pseuds/Lunarlooroo
Summary: Harry occasionally gets an odd visitor. The ghost of a doe watches over him when he has difficult days.





	I Await a Protector

The first time it happens, Harry is seven and covered in welts. He’s on his front on his little cot in the cupboard, because his back hurts too much to lie on it. The reason he even sees it is because of the glow it brings to the dark space. He looks up groggily, still dazed from the whipping he got.

It’s an animal, he thinks. He doesn’t know what, but it has four long legs and has a long face like a dog. But not like Aunt Marge’s Ripper, whose face is squished up like it smashed into a wall. It’s also white and glowy, like a ghost, but Aunt Petunia would slap him if he ever said the word.

Maybe it _is_ a ghost and it’s here to eat him up. Or maybe he’s confused that with the boogeyman.

He flops tiredly back onto the thin mattress, running out of energy to hold himself up to look at the ghost-thing. He doesn’t care if it wants to eat him or kill him or whatever. The ghost comes closer, just standing at the edge of his cot. Somehow, he expected it to feel cold, but it’s warm instead. His eyes droop closed, and he drifts off to sleep, warmer than he’s ever been. His dreams are nice that night, even if he can’t quite remember them when he wakes.

The ghost is gone the next morning, which he expected. In school, he learns that the ghost might have been a deer, a female one called a doe because it had no horns. For some reason, he waits up a little every night to see if it will return.

It never does, and Harry forgets all about it, having other things to worry about.

* * *

The second time it happens, he’s just discovered magic. Hagrid brought him to a place called Diagon Alley, and he saw goblins and flying brooms and potions and he even got his very own magic wand! He’s a wizard, just like his parents, who weren’t drunks or killed in a car crash like his uncle and aunt always said. He can’t wait to go to Hogwarts.

His wrist hurts from the way Uncle Vernon gripped it as he threw him into Dudley’s second bedroom, but it’s fine, because he’s _magic_. This time, when the ghost doe appears, he’s more alert. It isn’t a dream, not like he thought about last time. Hedwig’s startled bark attests to that. Hagrid said that ghosts do exist, but Harry wonders why a ghost doe is haunting him.

Only, it doesn’t feel like haunting, because he doesn’t feel scared or nervous. Curiously, he reaches out to try and touch it. He doesn’t know if it’ll hurt, but that’s okay. He’s used to pain.

He’s even a little upset when his hand passes straight through the deer. Like last time, it feels pleasantly warm. Unlike last time, he also feels kinda happy. His mouth widens into a wide smile. He doesn’t really know why he’s suddenly so bubbly. He pulls his hand back, and immediately the tingly feelings fade.

Tilting his head, he tries again and again. Whenever he’s touching the ghost, he feels really happy, almost enough to giggle out loud. It’s like the ghost is _giving_ him happiness.

* * *

 

To his disappointment, Harry doesn’t see his deer anywhere in Hogwarts, even when all the ghosts came out. He thought maybe it was a school ghost that wanted to welcome him, but maybe not. It also doesn’t show up that night, while he’s in his bed. He sort of misses it, which is silly because he’s only seen in twice in the past few years.

Hogwarts is amazing, though, even without any ghost deer. There’s just so much magic everywhere! The school work is boring sometimes, but he’s seen students casting so many different spells, it’s crazy to think he can do that now.

He even learns more about his parents, James and Lily Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived stuff is weird, yeah, but he tries to not think of that all too much. He joined the Quidditch team, just like his Dad! Not a lot of people talk about his Mum, but that’s fine. Apparently he has the same green eyes she had.

The deer comes when he least expects it. It’s Halloween night and he, Ron and Hermione have just beaten a troll. He was scared out of his mind at the time, but Hermione could have died if he and Ron hadn’t gone to save her. He’s never had friends before, but he thinks he did what a friend was supposed to do.

He’s lying on his bed in the Gryffindor dorm room, too keyed up to sleep, when it comes. It comes straight up to him this time, instead of hanging back. To his surprise, it’s even shaking its head, as if angry. Well, it wouldn’t be the only one. McGonagall and Snape were hopping mad about their ‘recklessness’ and ‘utter disregard for rules’ earlier, as if he and Ron could have just left Hermione to the wolves, or the troll, in this case.

He’s not really annoyed by this, though. He kind of thinks the doe is just worried about him. It’s a new feeling, being cared for and worried over. Also, he’d be worried and angry if Ron had run off to face the troll alone too. He just kind of strokes over the doe’s head to appease it. As usual, it gives him a warm, joyous feeling.

He’s glad the doe came today. He worried that maybe it couldn’t find him here at Hogwarts, since he’s only ever seen it in Privet Drive.

This time, the doe only leaves after he’s fallen asleep.

* * *

 

It shows up occasionally after that. Usually on nights that something big has happened. Like the day Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone, or when he was in the infirmary after that idiot Lockhart vanished all the bones in his arm, or when he returned from the Chamber of Secrets after killing the basilisk.

It’s in third year when he learns that the ghost deer isn’t really a ghost after all.

Professor Lupin shows him something called a patronus, after Harry asks for lessons on how to defeat a dementor. It’s like a ghostly-looking animal, summoned with happy thoughts. Each person’s patronus can have a different form.

Lupin says his Dad’s patronus was a stag. But more importantly, his Mum’s was a doe.

It almost makes him cry, but he doesn’t really want Lupin to ask him about it. The doe somehow feels like something private, something he shouldn’t tell anyone. His Mum is looking out for him, even from beyond the grave. He doesn’t really know how she’s doing it, but he’s sure that that’s what the doe is. Maybe that’s why the doe can only come on some days, since it must be difficult for his Mum to send it to him from where she is.

He starts talking to it after that, when it comes. He tells it everything he can think of, like what classes he likes, the spells he’s learnt, what he’s done today. Sometimes, he tells it things that he doesn’t tell anyone else, not even Ron or Hermione. How he hates being the Boy-Who-Lived, hates that people think they know what he’s like because of all the fake news in the Prophet. How he wishes his parents were still alive, that he had family, not like the sad excuses the Dursleys are.

He hopes that the doe can bring all his messages back to his Mum.

* * *

 

Harry is on the run during what should be his seventh year. A lot has changed since he was a little first year, bright-eyed and eager. Cedric died, then Sirius died, then many more people died because of Voldemort, who _would not_ die.

He now knows it’s because of the horcruxes. What he doesn’t know, is how to destroy them. He doesn’t very well have a handy dandy basilisk fang, now does he?

He’s in the tent he shares with Hermione. Not Ron, because Ron _left_.

Hermione’s fast asleep, and he doesn’t know how she does it, just close her eyes and drift off when the fate of Wizarding Britain is on their shoulders. He’s desperate enough to try ‘clearing his mind’ when a familiar glow enters the tent. A quick glance shows that Hermione’s still out. In all the years that his doe’s been visiting him, it’s never been seen by anyone else before. No one but him knows about it, not even Snape, who had fun traipsing through his mind during ‘Remedial Potions’.

It’s a relief to see the doe, because he always sleeps better on nights that it visits. Must be because he feels safer with his Mum’s chosen protector by his side. This time, however, the doe circles around him then tilts its head to the exit. It moves as if to leave, but stops short and looks back at him.

It takes a while, but he realises that it wants him to follow it. He hesitates for a split second, wary of the possible danger, but he trusts the doe not to lead him astray.

The frigid air is a shock to his senses, but he trudges on in the snow, following the doe faithfully. Whatever it is, it must be important. He is led to a lake not far from where they set up camp. The doe hovers over the still waters, looking down. Following its gaze, he spies a glint of colour in the depths of the lake.

Shock runs through him as he recognises the form of the Sword of Gryffindor. That’s their key to destroying those damned horcruxes! He looks in awe at the doe, utterly grateful for its help.

He quickly shucks off his clothes, shivering at the cold temperatures. Well, a little hypothermia is a small price to pay for killing Voldemort. This will be much worse than the Second Task, and he doesn’t have any gillyweed, but there’s nothing for it.

With a deep inhale, he takes the plunge.

* * *

Harry’s crying as he comes out of the pensieve, he knows it. It isn’t even that he has to die at Voldemort’s hand – he isn’t really pleased by that news (damn you Dumbledore!), but he half expected not to survive the battle anyway.

No, what is really causing his tears is Snape. Snape, who loved his mother to the bitter end. Snape, who had the same doe patronus. Snape, who had been sending him his patronus to him all these years, who heard the heartfelt words of a lost boy to his mother. All those memories, of late nights waiting for the return of his doe, of listening to every word despite hating the boy who said them.

He did notice, didn’t he? That Snape’s antagonism seemed to ease a little in third year, when he first began speaking to the doe. He didn’t know why at the time, only that he was relieved.

After everything Snape did, he met his end bleeding out in a dirty little shack. Suddenly, the idea is just too painful to bear. He immediately calls for a house elf to retrieve Snape’s body and to treat it with utter respect. He also passes Snape’s memories to the elf, making sure she will give them to Ron or Hermione after the battle. They will ensure that Snape gets the recognition he deserves.

He would do it himself, but now he knows he wouldn’t be making it through the battle. Not if he really is the last horcrux.

* * *

Waking up in the infirmary isn’t something Harry expected he would ever do again. He remembers going to meet Voldemort and getting an _Avada Kedavra_ to the chest. He also remembers talking to Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station and then, miraculously, waking up on the forest floor. Most importantly, he remembers the _Expelliarmus_ that defeated Voldemort once and for all. He gets a certain vindictive pleasure from the fact that such a basic spell offed the all-powerful and fearsome Dark Lord. What a pitiful end.

He must have passed out after all that. It isn’t surprising, given that he had been running purely on fumes in the last few days. The hospital wing is quiet, something he attributes to Madam Pomfrey. He’s thankful that she kept the crowds away, at least he can recuperate in peace for now. Surely after he leaves everyone will be clamouring to speak with the ‘Boy-Who-Lived-Twice’ or some such nonsense.

With a groan, he sits up in his bed, stretching his sore body. Looking around the room, he sees a few of his schoolmates occupying the beds. To his relief, they don’t look to be in serious condition. He’s dreading asking about the list of casualties from the battle.

As expected, Madam Pomfrey is quick to attend to him once he makes an attempt to leave his bed. He’s certain she has alarms for such incidents, because he has never once successfully escaped her care. And he’s been her patient many times in all his years here.

His injuries are minor and will heal entirely with rest and proper care. That is, of course, save for the new curse scar above his heart, courtesy of his second brush with the killing curse. Like the one on his forehead, this will never disappear.

When her inspection is done, Madam Pomfrey asks him to follow her. He gets up gingerly to do so, noting that she is leading him to the private rooms in the hospital wing. They’re rarely used, reserved for staff members or infectious patients.

He is certainly not prepared at all to see the person in the bed she shows him. Utterly flabbergasted might be closer, though still not fully encompassing the shock he feels.

Severus Snape, chest rising with every strained breath, is in the room, clearly alive, though not having an easy time of it. Madam Pomfrey is distinctly unhappy to have the ‘traitor’ in her domain, but she has oaths that she is bound to keep. Harry gives a quick explanation about Dumbledore’s plans and Snape’s real role in the war, which appeases her somewhat.

Then she leaves him in the room alone. With Severus Snape.

The man is still unconscious, in much worse shape than the other patients in the ward. Still a little off-balance at the revelation, he totters over to sit at Snape’s bedside. Without conscious decision, he grasps his hand gently. Honestly, given that the other man isn’t awake, the gesture of comfort can only be for one person.

On a whim, he waves his wand and summons his patronus. His stag promptly appears when called. It trots close to Snape and lowers its head to gently butt its antlers on the bedridden man’s chest.

He doesn’t think it’s wishful thinking that Snape’s expression smooths out just that tiny bit.

* * *

The next few days are spent on clean up. The battle wreaked a lot of destruction on the castle. There’s rubble and granite everywhere, not to mention blood and flesh. Harry does his best not to think of the latter, though. If he lets himself sink into that mire of grief, he’ll never get anything done. Already, the names of the casualties have been established, some more familiar than others.

The funerals are scheduled for after the courtyard is cleaned up enough. Which is why that’s where they’re focussing their efforts for now.

When he has the time, he’s at Snape’s bedside, just holding his hand and talking quietly. When he doesn’t, he leaves his stag behind, hoping to provide some measure of comfort.

Madam Pomfrey tells him that Snape’s recovery is going well, or as well as is to be expected when one is practically mauled by a giant snake. She expects him to regain consciousness any day now, though his body will still be weakened for months yet.

Ron and Hermione think he’s bonkers, of course, for spending so much time in the infirmary. They don’t bother him, thankfully, even though they don’t quite understand. They would if they knew about the doe, but he doesn’t say a word about that. It still feels too private to share.

Nine days after the battle, after he died then came to life again, after Nagini’s attack on Snape, Prongs dashes out of the doors to the castle to find him levitating large slabs of concrete into a pile. His patronus hasn’t done that before, has stayed devotedly by Snape’s bedside for the better part of the day on his orders.

It takes him only a moment to realise what has happened. He drops whatever he’s doing (thankfully the slab he was lifting was already hovering over the pile) and races into the castle. His feet trace the familiar path to the infirmary with little conscious direction.

10 minutes is the time it usually takes him to get to the infirmary from the school grounds. He now takes only 3. He’s panting as he bursts into the room, getting a fierce glower from the school matron at the interruption. But his eyes are only for the man in the bed.

Snape still looks awfully pale, but his eyes are open and he’s propped up against the pillows, making rude gestures at Madam Pomfrey as she tries to wrangle him into submission.

Then the man turns his gaze to him. He can’t help but fidget awkwardly from his position at the entrance of the room, suddenly not entirely sure where he stands with Snape. Their last interaction before the battle was him chasing Snape out the castle in a frenzied rage, spitting curses (literal and figurative) for the murder of Dumbledore. Of course, now he knows that it wasn’t so much murder as assisted suicide, as does Kingsley, the acting Minister.

Madam Pomfrey finally completes her examination, muttering irately under her breath about _‘obstinate, uncooperative fools’_ as she leaves them with warnings for Snape not to use his voice.

He smiles self-consciously at the man, feeling nervous under his intent gaze. Ambling over to take his customary seat next to his bed, he starts chattering about everything that’s happened in the last nine days. Snape’s stare doesn’t relent at all, though he visibly relaxes into his pillows as time goes by.

When he runs out of idle talk, he pauses a while before he can summon the courage to say the important things. Before he starts, he gives Snape his memories back. He’s been carrying the bottle in his pocket like a lucky charm all this while, waiting for this moment. No one has watched them but him, since he was unwilling to let anyone without Snape’s permission. Even Kingsley had to take him at his word about Snape’s innocence, though the words of the Man-Who-Conquered are technically rather powerful indeed.

So he talks. He talks about the first time he ever saw the doe, and then every time thereafter. He remembers every single incident. How he felt warm, and happy, and _safe._ He even talks about how he thought it was his Mum sending him a protector from beyond the grave. Sometimes, he wonders how would have kept going, if not for the doe. If he had no one to confide all his secrets, fears, hopes, dreams in.

At the end of it all, he can only take Snape’s hand again – something that the man allows with surprisingly little protest – and thank him. This is the man that scorned and belittled and taunted him throughout school, but this is also the man that stood by him through everything, listened to his whispered confessions in the dark of night and dedicated his life to protect him.

There is no reply, obviously, given that Madam Pomfrey is not someone people disobey. However, Snape slides his wand from under his pillow and gives a tiny flourish. White clouds burst from the tip of his wand, coalescing to form the beloved doe. The man’s hands tremble minutely at the exertion, but he looks satisfied.

He would chastise Snape for such an impulsive act, but he’s too busy staring at the doe. It feels like ages since he last saw it, though realistically it’s only been weeks since the Forest of Dean. For the first time, he can reciprocate the act, and with barely a thought his own stag appears. He watches as the two patronuses (patroni?) step closer to each other. His stag nuzzles sweetly against Snape’s doe, which seems to nudge back encouragingly.

It all seems rather peculiar to him, having never seen this sort of behaviour in patronuses before. Turning to look back to Snape, he finds the older man staring, transfixed, at the scene. When Snape finally looks at him again, there is a sort of intensity in his gaze that makes his cheeks heat up.

He gets the nagging feeling that how the patronuses are acting mean something significant. He squeezes Snape’s hand a little, realising he still has it in his grasp. The answering squeeze has him smiling helplessly, to which Snape averts his eyes, huffing soundlessly.

That’s okay, because now their fingers are laced together. He leans against the bedframe, dangerously close to aligning their sides together. For now, his stag and Snape’s doe are prancing around happily in the room and the ball of joy in his heart isn’t just from the presence of a patronus.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked that! This was supposed to be for the prompt on Snape's patronus for the Snape Appreciation thing on tumblr, but it ended up focussing more on Harry than Snape.
> 
> My tumblr: [lunarlooroo](https://lunarlooroo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
